The Rebels of Gold

  “Whatever you need of me, my lady.”

  Even if Yveun did not yet agree with her methods, Coletta would charge forward. If they could not find more gold, Tam could not be relied on. Without Tam, and with Xin allying with Loom, the future of Rok looked more uncertain by the hour. But Coletta liked dire situations; they made her creative. And when she was at her most creative, she was also at her most deadly.

  FLORENCE

  There were a total of four engines left in the Ravens’ Guild hall, but only three slowly lurched to a halt at Ter.3.2. The compartments had been cramped, but in the end, there was only enough fuel left at Ter.4 to run three engines. It was a severe oversight on Vicar Dove’s part, one that made Florence agitated for nearly the entire trip.

  “I’m so ready to be off this train,” Shannra muttered. The woman had been dozing off for hours but had perked up slightly when the train began to cut fuel in an effort to conserve their remaining supplies and coast into the station on momentum.

  “The ride isn’t so bad.” Florence stretched her legs forward in the narrow compartment. Her status as vicar—vicar! The title still had yet to fully sink in, had earned her a bit of privacy that she shared with Shannra gladly.

  “Five days!” Shannra groaned, sinking back into the narrow bed. The cabin was only wide enough for one chair and the bed that was tucked oddly into an alcove that jutted into the hall outside their door. “I forgot what fresh air feels like.”

  “Then open the window.” Florence counted her canisters on a table that was little more than a window ledge and held back a small grin.

  “You think you’re awfully funny, don’t you?” They had discovered the window was broken a day in.

  “More than one way to open a window.” Florence drew her revolver and brought her arm across her body, the grip exposed on the end as though she was about to smash the window with it.

  “Florence, stop!” Shannra lunged, gripping her hands.

  Florence grinned, wide and silly. No doubt stir-crazy. “Ask me nicely.”

  “Oh, I see how it is.” Shannra gave a low chuckle that curved her cheek in just the way Florence liked. “You do think you’re funny.”

  “What of it?”

  “I’ll wipe the smile off that mouth of yours.”

  “With what?”

  Shannra leaned forward, half-laughing into the kiss that set free Florence’s own laughter. Florence placed her palms over the other woman’s hips, smoothing them against the bone that protruded from her narrow waist. Shannra had never boasted a sturdy frame, but she had begun to shrink before Florence’s eyes and hands.

  They all had. Being at war, living in hiding—it took a hefty toll on Loom, and rations were scarce as it was. All the more reason to keep moving, follow the remaining resources.

  Yes, war was brutal, and it demanded a high price of them all. But Florence wouldn’t let that price be Shannra. She indulged herself in what distractions the woman could provide and savored the moments they got to spend together not as Revolvers, but as women.

  Instead of tracing the all-too-clear outline of Shannra’s lower ribs, Florence kissed them. Instead of focusing on the bony jut of her hips, Florence gave careful mind to the woman’s knee resting on the chair right at the apex of her thighs. She reveled in feeling the other woman’s hands in her hair and nails on her scalp, and offered the same distraction.

  Shannra’s hands moved to Florence’s back, gripping and smoothing the fabric forward before sliding forward to grace her chest. Florence conceded to the clear desire and rose without forfeiting her lover’s mouth. Shannra was taller than Florence, as most were, and she had to crane her neck when standing if Shannra didn’t slouch.

  Florence carefully worked on the latches of her holster and Shannra was eager to assist. When it came loose, her lover handled the weapons with care, breaking the kiss to set them aside. Despite the fact that it resulted in Shannra’s mouth off hers, Florence had never seen anything sexier than this mindfulness of weaponry.

  With a soft hum rising in the back of her throat, Florence pulled Shannra back to her, using the height difference to sink her teeth into the woman’s skin, scarred and rough with battle. Her white hair tickled Florence’s nose and Florence closed her eyes. In the back of her mind, despite all will or conscious effort, another white-haired woman appeared like a dangling loose end, never quite tied off.

  Florence pressed her teeth down harder. The flavor of someone else on her tongue was enough to clear her head again, and Florence pursued the distraction. Without much thought, Shannra was on the bed, Florence above her.

  Sex had its own power and its own weakness, Florence had learned. It was gaining true vulnerability from another while giving it from yourself at the same time. But there was a guarded look to Shannra’s eyes and an echo in all the woman’s moans that came from the distance that still lingered between them. Neither was ready to give or take that power.

  So they took only pleasure instead.

  When the brakes of the train engaged some time later, Florence finally peeled her sweat-slicked body from the sheets. Her clothes hadn’t gone far in the small cabin, but she was still stalled by the task of sorting them from Shannra’s.

  “What’s the hurry?” Shannra yawned.

  “How can you be sleepy? You’ve been dozing all day.” Florence started with her underthings, dressing up to her skirt, shirt, and vest.

  “You wore me out.” The woman grinned, forgetting her earlier question entirely. Florence silently applauded herself for the effective distraction.

  “Ah, well, that’s not very hard.” Her statement sent Shannra into a pout that transformed into a retaliation against putting on clothes.

  “Where are you off to?”

  “Train’s almost stopped.” Florence looked out their small window. The platform had begun to creep along the sides of the train. They were made of metal and wood, which echoed the architecture of a small town in the distance. Florence saw the marked smokestacks of a refinery and other buildings she didn’t recognize.

  Arianna’s home.

  It was Florence’s first time laying eyes on a proper establishment of Ter.3, and she wondered how different it was from when Arianna was a girl.

  “I’ll need you to whisper to Arianna,” Florence spoke as she adjusted her holster. “Let her know we made it to 3.2.”

  Shannra’s mouth pressed together slightly. The woman was good at a great many things, but hiding her emotions from Florence was not one of them. It was as if Shannra could see through her, straight to that never-quite-defined aspect of her relationship with Arianna.

  “Anything else you’d like me to tell her?” Shannra began moving for her clothes.

  “No, that should be enough.” Florence grabbed her top hat, the final piece of her ensemble. She hoped Arianna would have more to say to her—updates on the Philosopher’s Boxes, suggestions for training, a remark on her cleverness for bringing all of Loom south . . . something.

  “As you command, Vicar Florence.” Shannra raised her hand to her ear.

  Florence snatched the appendage by the wrist, quickly bringing it up to press a kiss against Shannra’s knuckles. She searched the other woman’s eyes. She wanted to offer reassurances, but she didn’t quite know for what.

  “Thank you, lovely,” Florence whispered against Shannra’s flesh.

  Just like that, her steely eyes eased to wool-soft. “Anything for you, you know.”

  “Careful on what you offer me . . . I just may take it,” she cautioned.

  “I hope you do.” Florence gave a small smile and moved away. Shannra added, “All of you.”

  Florence merely nodded, adjusted her hat, and left. She heard Shannra’s meaning more clearly than she would’ve liked, but wasn’t inclined to address it. Not yet. There was always tomorrow. For now, she had more important things to focus on than pesky matters of the heart.

  For now, she had Loom.

  Florence stepped off the yet-movin
g train, one of the first on the platform. Shannra was right; it had been too long since they had proper fresh air. Florence filled her lungs as if for the first time and relished the filtered sunlight of aboveground Loom. She hoped she had seen the last of the Underground.

  After all, she was the Vicar Revolver now. Holx wasn’t, and had never been, a place for her.

  “Vicar Florence.” She shouldn’t have been surprised when Dove addressed her; the Vicar Raven would be the other to disembark first. Florence fell into step with the woman as they migrated toward the exit. “I trust your ride was good?”

  “The Ravens do an excellent job of maintaining their trains, Vicar.”

  “They do indeed.” Dove was completely oblivious that Florence’s compliment held more than a bit of irony. “We should have more than enough coal here to see the rest of the way to Garre, a few routes between . . .”

  Dove tried the door of the station master’s office. When the handle didn’t budge, she didn’t even blink, smashing through the window with her pistol and reaching around to unlock it. She descended on the quarters as if she owned them, deftly locating the primary ledger for the station.

  “How does it look?” Florence asked.

  “More than enough coal . . . Should be a gold storehouse here, too, if I’m not mistaken. Perhaps we could even outfit one engine to focus more on magic and alleviate some of the draw on the resources.”

  “It’d certainly relieve Powell.” Florence looked through the open door back out to the platform, seeing the man in question disembark.

  “Anything to quiet him about draining resources,” Dove muttered. Florence chose to ignore the remark. She’d seen just how impressive the Harvester’s work to manage resources was.

  “I’ll whisper to Garre, have Arianna speak with Willard about outfitting the next train.”

  “And I’ll look into that storehouse of gold.”

  Florence said nothing about the copied ledger she still had in her possession. Dove was almost too good at her job, remembering with ease where every outpost for the Ravens was along their trade routes. Plus, if Dove had concealed the state of their coal reserves, Florence could only imagine how she would handle gold. Thus, she kept the means to verify the Vicar Raven to herself.

  “I trust you both had a smooth journey?” Powell asked as he joined them, referencing the last time they had spoken on the train a day ago.

  “Indeed.” Dove closed up the ledger and pushed past the Vicar Harvester. “If you’ll both excuse me, I’m going to see to the state of our engines and manage my Ravens.”

  “Oh, right, very well . . .” Powell was left muttering to a woman who was already out of hearing range. “I don’t think she likes me very much,” he observed quietly to Florence.

  “We don’t have to like each other. We merely need to be effective.” Florence shrugged and started for the door as well.

  “Effective, huh? You like me though, don’t you, Florence?”

  “You know that’s true.” She gave Powell an encouraging smile. “We’re both young vicars and need to stick together.”

  “No doubt.”

  The station had two platforms divided by a turnstile. Powell and Florence emerged opposite the side they’d arrived on, and found themselves on a covered stretch that descended into a cobblestone arc of road lined with small storefronts, completely void of life.

  Florence’s hand was on her gun before she was even conscious of the prickle up her neck. She looked along the road that led down the sloping hill into the downtown proper, where the smokestacks of the refinery and factories stretched toward the sky.

  “It’s quiet.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” Powell affirmed.

  “Revolvers!” Florence called over her shoulder back to the filling platform. The handful of her guild that still remained turned their heads in attention. “We move first, guns at the ready.”

  There were looks of confusion, but none objected. The Revolvers naturally ordered themselves in small squadrons based on specialization and available weaponry. Bernard was at her right.

  “Bernard, I want you to set up roosts with the initiates, there and there.” Florence pointed at two balconies down the road. Initiates weren’t the best shots, but Florence hoped they could at least lay cover fire.

  “Emma, you and I will go with the journeymen.” Florence spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, but her eyes caught Shannra’s. Stay close to me, they said.

  “Vicar, we’d like to switch.” Bernard spoke before Emma could even open her mouth, setting Florence’s eye to twitching. “The Revolvers cannot manage the loss of another Vicar.”

  “The Revolvers can survive whatever comes our way,” Florence said firmly. She’d not have men uttering words that would make the initiates weak. “Furthermore, I will be in good company.”

  “What are we defending ourselves from?” Emma asked the right question.

  “I don’t know yet.” Florence looked back down the sloping, still road. “But something doesn’t feel right.”

  They walked with guns at the ready down the center of the street. Florence felt the unease from the other Revolvers, but if there was fire to draw, she wanted to draw it. She wanted no chance of going unnoticed by lurking hostiles.

  But the silence persisted and, other than its unnerving stillness, it was almost a pleasant walk. The air further south was slightly less bitingly cold and the wind was a gentle breeze. Still, Florence’s concern continued to rise like molten steel coming to temperature.

  The moment they arrived at the factory’s entrance, where the Rivets had gone ahead early to begin manufacturing the corona-blasting guns, Florence knew every sickening concern was founded.

  Bodies littered the ground, soaked in black and crimson. Blood formed small rivers in the grooves between the stones of the street. Fenthri and Chimera alike, most bearing Alchemist and Rivet markings, all had the distinct slash marks that came with Dragon talons. A startling few had guns on their person. It was a slaughter of noncombatants that set Florence’s mouth into a grim line.

  All movement had stilled around her and every living eye was on the large factory doors, pulled shut. Upon them, written with the smear of a large palm, was a message in blood.

  “To Florence, with love,” Emma read from her side. “What do we do now?”

  Florence stared at the door for another long moment, as though it were the Dragon King himself. “We do what Loom is best at. We clean up the mess the Dragons have left us, and we get back to work.”

  CVAREH

  “She would be impressed.” Poiris folded his arms over his chest and looked out onto the refinery floor that wasn’t much of a refinery anymore.

  “Do you think so?” Cvareh rested his hands on the window sill.

  Below, the floor that had been mostly dark since its creation now glowed with life as men and women flitted about from one machine to the next. His eyes tracked over each of the Fenthri, and he silently practiced each of their names. It was something small, but he hoped it would be enough to show Arianna that he had begun to take seriously the idea of Fenthri as equals on Nova.

  “Petra wanted to see this place come to life. It was a grand vision that now means something. Yes, I think so.”

  “Thank you.” Cvareh gave his friend a tired smile. His shoulders felt like they sagged a little deeper just from expending the energy to do so. “She wanted it to make gold.”

  “She couldn’t have foreseen that we needed it for a much greater purpose. More than anything, Petra wanted it to be useful.” Poiris had a working relationship with his sister that Cvareh had only glimpsed briefly. This had been Petra’s pet project; were it not for Poiris, Cvareh would’ve had a hard time assuming the mantle, going in blind.

  “Useful, it is.”

  “To think, we underestimated them for so long.” Poiris’s eyes were on the Fenthri. “Thinking them lesser. Thinking we had things to teach them and order to bring. We had a lot more t
o learn.”

  “I wouldn’t say that . . .” Cvareh’s eyes fell on one woman in particular, who nearly stopped all movement on the floor with her white-haired, nearly ethereal presence.

  Arianna was a force to be reckoned with. Respected among Fenthri and feared among Dragons alike for her knowledge, she commanded loyalty with an ease Cvareh didn’t think she even recognized. With him as Dono and her at his side, they could rule the world together.

  Do I want that?

  It had long since stopped being about what either of them wanted.

  “Why is that?” Poiris pulled Cvareh from his thoughts.

  “Why is—oh, because as much as we have to learn from them, they need to learn from us.” Cvareh thought of Arianna when she first landed on Nova, the things she questioned. Was it fair for him to think that she was better off for having her world expanded beyond the cold logic that governed Loom?

  “Well, call me greased,” Arianna said as she opened the door. “This damn near looks respectable.”

  “Are you surprised?” Poiris asked, his chest puffing like a bird ruffling its feathers.

  “With this one at the helm?” Arianna motioned to Cvareh. “Yes.”

  “I don’t think—”

  Cvareh merely chuckled and allowed the sound to diffuse Poiris’s tension into confusion. “Poiris, all is well. Please excuse my mate and I.”

  Arianna arched her eyebrows, a silent question.

  Naming her as such extended her all the respect and protections that came with his own status. But he couldn’t deny the quiet thrill that hummed through him at the notion.

  With Poiris departed, Arianna dropped her bag into a heap by the door, empty. The tubes it carried had already been handed off to be filled anew with flowers. “Your mate. Sounds serious.”

  “It’s not,” he lied.

  “You’re lying.”